Blue Vengenance: A Logan Thorne DCI Scottish Detective Thriller Read online

  “Wow,” Harding remarked and gazed up at the house. “I’ve never seen one of these before.”

  “Right,” I said as I shook my head. “I forgot your Edinburgh history only goes back five months.”

  The colony properties were originally built as affordable housing for the working classes back in the mid-1850’s, but were now marketed as luxury homes for the wealthy. Last I heard, a colony house was on sale for a quarter of a million. It was a large departure from affordable housing, and I wondered how Rory Madden could afford this place.

  I flashed a cursory glance down the street, though I didn’t believe the Toyota could have followed us. The road was surprisingly empty, but then I remembered it was a mid-week afternoon, and the residents of this street were probably all bankers or techies at work.

  Madden’s home stuck out among the other homes on the street. His neighbours all had bright, shiny paint on the doors and trim, and well-tended plants. But at Madden’s house, the paint had faded and the planter had only a few brown, leafless plants. The garden gate squeaked when I pushed it open, something I was sure none of the other gates would do, and we clipped up the old stone stairs that were still slick with rain.

  Harding pounded on the door, and a few chips of paint dropped to the ground. Madden’s neighbours probably hated the man, and I could easily imagine the conversations they had about him. I studied the street again, but no one peeked out through a curtain, and no green Toyotas cruised by.

  The yellow door inched open and revealed a face silhouetted in the dark hallway. I tilted my head to see the person more clearly, but he remained in the shadows.

  “Sir?” Harding asked politely as she removed her badge and held it up. “I’m Detective Sergeant Maddy Harding and this is Detective Chief Inspector Thorne. May we come in?”

  “Can I see your badge, too?” the voice croaked.

  I obliged and held my badge out for inspection. He touched it with greasy fingers, and I resisted the urge to snatch my hand away from the man’s gnarled fingers.

  “Thank you,” he said. “I needed to check. You don’t much look like a DCI, you know.”

  Harding chuckled under her breath.

  “I get that a lot,” I said and shrugged. “Are you Rory Madden?”

  “Why do you ask?” he asked.

  He was instantly on guard, but I didn’t find that suspicious. The skeptical instinct didn’t diminish just because of retirement. The door remained half closed, and Madden’s hand was wrapped around the dead-bolt, as though he might slam it shut at any moment.

  “Sir?” Harding asked in her best public school voice. “May we please talk to you inside?”

  She sounded richly authoritative, but as I gazed at the shadowed face in front of us, I didn’t believe such a tactic would work. I’d seen Madden’s file, too, so I knew that he was raised in working class Perth. He wasn’t the type to respond to my partner’s English wealth. I cleared my throat pointedly, but Harding looked at me, puzzled.

  “Mr. Madden, I believe you could provide us with some crucial information that would help us stop a cop killer,” I said as I looked him in the eyes.

  I knew Madden’s type, and I knew the best way to talk to him was directly and honestly. If we danced around our reason for being there, he wouldn’t tell us a thing.

  “A murderer, you say?” he wheezed. “Who could turn down such a tempting morsel?”

  I grimaced internally, but the door opened and Rory Madden’s face was finally revealed. It was clear that the photo used on Madden’s investigator’s license had been taken long ago. Instead of the full, bushy hair of his licence, his head was now entirely bald, except for a whiskery mustache which quivered above his lip. His leathery, wrinkled skin made him seem older than his sixty-odd years, and his nose had clearly been broken sometime during the intervening years. But his eyes were alert and focused as he zeroed in on me with interest.

  He stepped back from the door and waved us inside. Harding went in first while I did a last scan of the street, and then I stepped into the near total darkness of the house.

  “It’s a shoe-free household,” Madden ordered. “You can wipe them there, and then line them next to the shoe rack.”

  I looked down at the brown doormat, just about the only thing I could see in the weak light cast by a naked bulb that dangled from the ceiling. BLESS THIS HOUSE was neatly printed in all caps, though a few of the letters had started to fade. I noted the stack of unopened posts in the hallway and the dust that covered a hallway mirror. Nobody had blessed this house for a long time.

  Harding kicked her shoes off immediately, but I felt uncomfortable about doing the same as I pictured my threadbare socks sinking into the stained carpet. Mainly, I wanted my shoes in case I needed to run.

  “Ah, actually I’m going to keep my shoes on if you don’t mind,” I said in a firm voice. “To me, it’s like asking an officer for his gun.”

  I thought Madden would argue, but he simply chuckled softly.

  “I haven’t socialised with any inspectors for a while, Mr. Thorne,” he replied. “I’d forgotten what you were all like.”

  DS Harding glared at me as Madden turned away. I smirked at her neon-orange-striped socks, then I followed our host in my heavy boots.

  It was stiflingly hot inside, and as I took in the sticky humidity and the grimy rugs, I felt an urge to take a long, cold shower. I wondered how Madden could possibly be comfortable in his dark green cardigan, which sagged around his skinny stomach. I was already sweating through my t-shirt, and I could see a bead of sweat on my partner’s brow.

  The retired investigator led us into his living room, and I stopped in the doorway to drink in my surroundings. Every possible surface, from the coffee table, to the bookcases, and even the window sills were piled high with stacks of paper. The walls were lined with frames of newspaper articles rather than family photographs.

  I peered more closely at one mountainous pile of papers as I stepped around it and saw that there were print-outs of online news stories nearer the top, and older article clippings at the bottom, curled at the edges. I wondered how long those clippings had been kicking around Madden’s house, serving no purpose except to gather dust.

  In another pile, I spotted old personnel files and glimpses of surveillance reports. A piece of paper, balanced on a tall, rickety table to my side, listed the food eaten during an extravagant meal at one of the oldest restaurants in Edinburgh. Two people whose names I didn’t recognize had consumed oysters, lobster rolls, vintage champagne, and shots of cognac. I tried to imagine the man in front of me sitting in that restaurant as he sipped a soft drink and spied on such luxury, but I couldn’t see how he would have made it past the front door.

  “What a lovely room,” Harding said as though determined to look past the chaos.

  But her voice sounded too fake, and I knew Madden would pick up on it.

  “It’s not lovely,” he said and frowned at her. “Aye, but it used to be. Once upon a time.”

  Harding perched on a brown armchair, but I chose to stand next to the large bay window because it was cracked open. I breathed in a nip of cold, fresh air, and looked up and down the street again. Still no cars, I noted, and I wondered if anyone ever drove a car around the area. I returned my gaze to the room and saw Harding swallow nervously while she fiddled with her shirt buttons.

  “So,” she began. “Mr. Madden, we wanted to ask if--”

  “You’re barely in the door!” the investigator cut in. “Haven’t even said hello before attacking me with your questions.”

  I glanced at my partner, but she ignored my look and forced a smile for Madden.

  “You’re right,” she apologised. “Would you like to know what we’re working on?”

  “Not these days, love,” he barked as he waved a dismissive hand. “I’ve done my time looking at dead bodies. Not like you. You must only be what, twenty-one?”

  “Ah, actually I’m quite a bit older than that,” the br
unette said.

  “Not by much, I bet,” the investigator scoffed.

  Madden hadn’t offered us a drink, which suited me just fine. I didn’t want to spend any more time in this depressing place than I had to, and I wanted Madden to start talking.

  “How long have you lived here?” Harding asked politely, though she’d clenched her fist in irritation.

  “Long time,” the old man said as he waved his hand dismissively at her.

  I wasn’t sure if he had picked up on my partner’s resentment, or he just didn’t care. I saw my partner bite the inside of her cheek, and I could only imagine the words she was trying not to say.

  “They don’t make these houses anymore,” Madden added. “Course, you wouldn’t know that. The houses in England are all the same aren’t they? No character or history.”

  I walked over to the old dusty fireplace as they spoke and peered at the pile of newspapers which awaited the flames. I wanted to see if Mr Madden favoured The Caledonian. It was worth a shot, and he was clearly a man who preferred his news in print. But at first glance, he didn’t seem to read the paper, though he had several other small publications scattered around the room.

  As I looked over the papers, I noticed a book on the shelf over the fireplace. It stood out because most of the space was given over to more stacks of paper and a few knicknacks. It also stood out because it was a beautiful first edition with library binding. The spine was stiff and cracked, but otherwise the book had been well preserved.

  “Ahh!” Madden shouted, and I glanced around.

  He’d noticed my interest in the book, and for the first time since we’d entered the house, he looked excited.

  “Do you know much about Burke and Hare?” he asked and nodded to the text.

  “As much as any Scottish copper can know about the most infamous killer crime duo in our history,” I joked.

  Our eyes both swivelled towards the Brit, who was listening to this exchange with a blank expression.

  “Oh, come on,” Madden groaned. “Surely you’ve heard about them?”

  “Ahh, to be fair, Mr. Madden, they don’t exactly teach Burke & Hare in England,” I said in Harding’s defence.

  “Bloody British ignorance,” he mumbled to himself.

  Madden walked over to me and took the book. I watched as he turned it over slowly and then ran a loving hand over the cover. He held the book in the same way a painter might hold a favoured brush.

  “Erm, who are they?” Harding asked with politeness.

  I raised an eyebrow at her.

  “They committed sixteen killings back in 1828, right here in our fair city,” Madden explained in exasperation. “What was the time period, Inspector? I’ve forgotten.”

  I suspected I was being tested.

  “About ten months I think,” I said.

  He nodded in approval and then swivelled his attention back to my partner.

  “Aye, you can look up the rest,” Madden glared at the Brit. “And soon. You can’t call yourself an investigator in Edinburgh without knowing.”

  DS Harding looked at me pleadingly. I remembered reading in Madden’s file that he’d applied to be a detective once. Maybe, I thought, he just wanted some attention and respect from us. I could give that to this strange man if he could help us.

  I purposefully glanced at the framed news report on the wall next to the television. It was of a murder conviction from the 1990’s. A man was pushed from his yacht in the North Sea, and originally, the ruling had been an accident. I stopped reading, though as I studied the paper, and then I tried to find the name of the publication.

  “Ahh, that was a tough case,” the old man declared. “There were so many suspects. I’d never heard of such a hated man. He stripped his employers of their pensions, you know.”

  Madden shook his head and waited for me to comment.

  “Not an easy man to like, I take it,” I replied.

  “Terrible thing to do,” he said in disgust. “I wasn’t sorry he was killed.”

  I noticed Harding had stiffened in the beige, uncomfortable looking chair. She stared down at her feet.

  “Were you on the case for very long?” I asked him.

  “They only brought me in to help out with the large load, follow up on alibis, you know, the usual,” he said as he swelled with pride. “But then I went and solved the bloody thing. I got the boat steward talking, and he confessed.”

  “Quite a macabre decoration for the wall, don’t you think?” I asked Madden.

  I watched his reaction curiously. Did he have the stomach to force poison down a man’s throat?

  “My ex thought so, too,” he admitted as he waved a hand at the piles of clutter. “She didn’t like any of this. Said it was dreary.”

  Privately, I couldn’t blame the woman, and I saw Harding’s nod of agreement as well.

  “Did you make a good living from your investigative work?” I asked Madden.

  He smiled playfully and scratched his wispy chin.

  “Are you asking that because of the house?” he inquired.

  I nodded and tried to ignore the sweat dripping down my back. I looked at Madden’s woollen slippers in amazement.

  “It was expensive, yes,” the old man said. “But at the time I was in a two-income household. It’s been paid off a long time now. I only plan on leaving this house in a box.”

  “Do you get lonely?” I wondered.

  Harding frowned at me. I knew she thought that was too personal a question. I tried to mentally signal my strategy, but she carried on frowning.

  “Aye, I used to,” Madden said and crossed his arms. “Now I don’t mind it as much. I quite enjoy living with my own ghosts. They were good times.”

  “I’m sure they were,” I said in a tone I hoped indicated enthusiasm. “You certainly had a lot of successes. Did you ever think of joining the force?”

  As I suspected, Madden appeared delighted by this question.

  “Aye, I did,” he remarked. “It was all I thought of growing up. I just wanted a steady job, and I always loved a murder mystery. Used to play Cluedo a lot, read Agatha Christie. You know, the usual.”

  “I think we all did,” I agreed.

  “It’s funny what you remember, isn’t it?” he asked as he smiled to himself.

  “So what happened?” I asked. “To the dream, I mean?”

  “Couldn’t pass the fitness test,” the old investigator said and crossed his arms in disapproval. “I had heart problems at the time. You’d have thought they could overlook it, for a sharp mind like mine, but no. It was a big mistake for them. They’ve probably forked out more in private fees than they would a detective salary.”

  “You’re okay now?” I asked. “Your heart, that is?”

  “Oh, aye!” he exclaimed. “My heart is fit as a fiddle. Or rather, fit as the pig I’ve borrowed the valve from.”

  Madden laughed at his joke and then coughed from the effort.

  “Ahh, I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. “I mean, we’re sorry.”

  I gestured to Harding, who smiled in sympathy, though I noted that one hand had clenched into a fist again. Madden frowned when I reminded him of my partner’s presence, and for a moment, I thought he would send her to the kitchen to make tea while the men talked.

  “Sit down, Inspector,” the old man said as he ignored my partner.

  He pointed towards the armchair he had been using. It was purple and spongy and didn’t match anything else in the room. ‘His’ and ‘hers’ armchairs for a woman long gone?

  “But then you won’t be able to sit,” I protested.

  Harding jumped up from her chair guiltily, but I waved her back into the seat.

  “Oof, no, I’m better off standing up,” Madden said. “It’s good for my back. That’s what my doctor says, anyways.”

  He picked up a lighter and held it in his hands and then looked around the room. For a moment, I thought he would set the whole place on fire, and I wondered if I cou
ld make it to the door before all the old paper went up in flames. But he smiled again and waved us into the chairs, and Harding and I sat down.

  “Mr. Madden, as my colleague said--” I said.

  “You’re not her boss?” he cut in.

  “Well,” I hesitated as I eyed Harding, who stared up at the yellow ceiling stained from cigarette smoke.

  “Technically, I am,” I explained. “But we prefer to work as equals.”

  “Rubbish,” Madden said and waved an impatient hand. “You should call it how it is. There’s no sense of rank in the force these days. Everyone is too scared to hurt their feelings.”

  “Then you’re right, Mr. Madden, and I am DS Harding’s immediate superior,” I said as I sent a silent apology to her and hoped she’d realise it was a sacrifice worth making.

  Madden grunted in approval.

  “So what do you need from me?” he asked.

  “We need details on a case you were hired to investigate,” I said. “It was two and a half years ago, three female victims, all young, asphyxiated, and found in their bedrooms. The killer, Ralph Kennedy, left taunting messages for the police in the victims’ mouths.”

  It wasn’t until I’d mentioned the detail of the messages that Madden seemed to remember the case. His eyes widened, and he flicked the lighter on and off as he thought. I guessed he’d recently quit smoking and still found the action comforting.

  “I remember it,” he said. “I remember like it was last week. Hang on, this isn’t to do with the recent deaths, is it?”

  He studied me like I was a fascinating case, and I saw the manic curiosity in his eyes. He was finally involved in another case.

  For a minute, I wondered how much to reveal to him. I didn’t honestly believe that he was still a suspect. There was no chance he could have attacked DS McLuckie and fled the scene so quickly. But he wasn’t a member of the force, and never had been, and it was clear that he had little concept of security. Still, if he believed I respected him, I knew he’d be more forthcoming with information.

  “Yes, exactly,” I said and nodded like I was impressed by his deduction. “We’ve been trying to keep it quiet, but we suspect the two cases are linked.”